Slice of life

My (future) restaurant is still mostly a puzzle. I make up my own fantasies and dine at other people’s dreams, searching for help with my puzzle. A week ago I found a piece.

Never before (not even at my perma fave Dishoom) have I looked at a menu and wanted to order nearly every single thing. I have never been to Vietnam but if the real deal smells even half as delicious as bustling Cây Tre on Soho’s Dean Street, then I want to book that trip very, very soon.

Cây Tre is definitely loud, so depending on your mood you will either find this cosy, candlelit restaurant noisy or lively. Fortunately for me, every single one of the three times (in the same week) I visited the restaurant I was in a good mood. The room is bright, the staff is cheerful and I couldn’t wait to dig into the menu. I am no expert, least of all on Vietnamese food, but I have eaten at enough restaurants to know when someone is compromising authentic flavours to suit the foreign country they are serving their food in. Cây Tre thankfully makes no such concessions. Everything tastes fresh, delicious and when they say spicy, then mean spicy (yes!).

• Grilled aubergine with ground pork (£6) – sublime; the delicate aubergine glistens in a delicious sweet and savoury broth and I ate this dish in one go. I ordered it again; and again.

• Grilled calamari and okra (£8) – luscious calamari; I still don’t like okra.

• Crispy salt and pepper soft shell crab (£7) is better than the crispy salt and pepper frog’s legs (£7.50) contrary to what the tips on FourSquare say.

• Mahi mahi coconut curry (£9.50) is toe-curlingly fabulous; and evoked memories of malvani fish curry from India. It is served with rice and delicate steamed rice pancakes… almost like a neer dosa!

• Roast pork belly stuffed with sweet curry leaves (£10) is succulent with proper crispy skin.

• Com Saigon – a lemongrass marinated pork chop with fried egg & rice (£9) – which I ordered at the waitress’s recommendation was the only disappointing dish. The pork was dry and flavours very common.

Each dish arrives with its own nước chấm (Vietnamese dipping sauce) – the kitchen doesn’t cut corners by bulk producing one type of sauce and forcing it to match every dish on the menu. The Kim Chi (£4.50) is very good and bursting with ginger.

I found the wine list average and the desserts didn’t impress either. I had the coconut ice-cream (£3) the first time but stayed with the Vietnamese Iced Coffee (£2.90) every other time. The coffee is lovely and strong but could do with still more condensed milk.

The more I think about it the more I want my restaurant to feel like the perfect first date. A date when you can’t recall specific details but walk away knowing that everything was just right. The menu will give you butterflies of anticipation, the music will romance the design, the service will be flirty, and when you take that first bite it will be love. For that moment at least.

-p

And another one?

da Polpo is like the old friend you can rock up to anytime and are guaranteed a great conversation. Like the other restaurants in Russell Norman’s stable, da Polpo is cosy, easy and approachable. I find nothing more uncomfortable than a restaurant on edge – week one, new staff, new menu, forgotten service sequences, the smell of paint, and table tops that shine a bit too much. What I love most about Polpo, Polpetto, Spuntino and now da Polpo is how they manage to look and feel lived in, even when brand new.

Most things about this place will remind you of Polpo. One has a Campari Bar, the other an Aperol one. Both bacaros use a lot of natural finishes, have distressed walls, tiled flooring and bar counters you can eat at – the single diner’s most favourite seat.

                     

I even got lucky with my waitress; Tajsa (am near certain I’ve got this spelling wrong) wasted no time in settling me in and starting me off with a glass of the Polpo Prosecco (£5) – OMG so delicious – and some complimentary sesame cream cheese and bread.  (I’m still not sold on the fashion of wine being served in non-wine glasses.)

The menu is also a lot like Polpo’s. I started with the arancini (£2.50) – the gooey cheese centre makes these crispy balls of rice divine, even if lacking a little something. Next was the asparagus, taleggio and parma ham pizzetta (£6.50). The cheese and ham may get too salty for some but I loved this baby pizza.

I finished with a fresh tomato salad (£5) and a glass of the Polpo Merlot (£2.75). Maybe the combination was wrong but I won’t rush to order this wine again.

    

I skipped dessert , promising the superb staff that I would return for some. Soon. Last week I wrote about Spuntino – THE ONE restaurant I knew I would have a long romance with. Today I walked into another ONE. Amongst too many other things, Bollywood is where I first learnt and loved the idea of THE ONE. (It was most likely Rishi Kapoor & Dimple Kapadia’s teenage romance Bobby.)

We’ve all grown up since then and while I may still look for the Bollywood moments in my life, I’ve changed what The One means to me – ever so slightly. I now have:

• The One who got away – and Thai Green Curry
• The One who was always going to hurt me – and Pytt I Panna
• The One I still think about – and Vegemite sandwiches
• The One I didn’t really care about – and strawberry cheesecake

And then there is THE 5months-14days-8hours- andafewminutes ONE.

-p

The one?

I knew Spuntino was the one restaurant I will have a long romance with the second I walked in. I first went there last night with friends and even before we began our meal I couldn’t wait to come back for more.

And so I did.

Spuntino has no telephone and you cannot make reservations, and walking in can be slightly intimidating – I felt like I was crashing someone’s dinner party. But then the tattooed waitress smiled, beckoned and made me feel at home.

Ronnie Self, Louis Jordan, Ray Charles and Django Reinhart gently lull me into the Spuntino spirit and I started with a Negroni (£6) and olives stuffed with parmesan, anchovies and thyme (£4). I literally left the city behind me and wanted nothing else but to be in this place for many hours. You’ll see why so many reviews liken it to a diner in NYC’s Lower East side. Its tiny, cosy, welcoming, yet lets you be all at the same time.

  

Almost every diner at the restaurant ordered the truffled egg toast (£5.50). It is a plate full of decadence and home-cooking all in one mouthful. As is the mac and cheese (£8) that arrives in its own sizzling skillet. Last night we also tried the pulled pork slider (£4.50) – succulent; panzanella (£5.50) – fresh and delicious; softshell crab (£9.50) – dry and avoidable; calamari in squid ink (£8) – delish; and duck ham and pecorino salad (£6) – not so delish. I also highly recommend the eggplant chips with fennel yoghurt (£4) – gorgeous aubergine soldiers with an inspired yoghurt dip.

I don’t usually order dessert, let alone two! The brown sugar cheesecake with grappa prunes (£6) may just well be the best cheesecake I’ve ever had. They also have a cheeky peanut butter and jelly sandwich dessert (£6.50). Look!

  

At Spuntino I feel time stand still. I feel the same way when I think about THE ONE – the one I have been madly in something with for 5 months, 10 days, 2 hours and a few minutes. Now this is a completely one-sided romance, mostly blossoming in my overactive imagination; but I’m not ready to give up just yet. I don’t want to look back and learn from past mistakes, nor move on with life.

Sometimes its not about looking back, or moving forward. Sometimes its just about staying right where you are.

-p

Second date

After a day of mostly I-hate-skinny-merchandisers shopping I found myself in Covent Garden. I love how this overly touristy part of London has slowly become quite the destination for foodies. Three of my London favourites (Dishoom, Opera Tavern and Wahaca) are within minutes of each other. I was craving panna cotta though, and Kopapa was around the corner.

The best panna cotta I’ve ever tasted was at Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen, when it first opened nearly ten years ago. I remember Ma and I licking our plates clean, and then bumping into Jamie (oh yeah). Ever since then I cannot resist ordering it if I see one on the menu. So far, nothing has come close to Jamie’s, and I was very excited about trying Kopapa’s ‘pomegranate panna cotta with pear & basil jelly & a brandy snap’. The restaurant is Peter Gordon’s latest offering. He is a fusion food genius and I adore eating at his Providores.

I didn’t begin with dessert. This was only meant to be a light snack before the main show so I ordered grilled chorizo (£5.80), salad of goats curd, puy lentils, samphire & grilled baby gem with pomegranate dressing & hazelnuts (£8.40) and a glass of Craggy Range Te Kahu (£8.75).

I don’t like. Or rather, I still don’t like Kopapa. The chorizo was too salty and the goats curd overpowered the entire salad. The panna cotta (£7) arrived but I couldn’t stand to finish it; I love basil but evidently not as a jelly, and definitely not in my dessert. My opinion is in the minority because Kopapa has only received great reviews. The gorgeous art deco floor aside I didn’t connect with this restaurant. Before I got here, I couldn’t recall the details of my first meal here; all I remember was not falling in love with the food.

Coming back again was a little bit like the second date you go on when you didn’t pay attention to your gut feeling (to run) the first time round. Do you remember every single detail of your first ever date? How about the first date with your latest sweetheart? I don’t. I don’t remember what I was wearing or whether he had polished his shoes, nor who initiated the date or how, nor who suggested the venue. I barely remember what we talked about.

At the end of the date we all have two options. We could listen to our head that says, “First dates shouldn’t count really. Everything is new and everyone is so nervous about giving the wrong answer that we barely hear the question. Go on, give it another shot”

Or we could listen to our heart that either says, “Something isn’t right. Run!” or “So it wasn’t the best date in the world. But you feel something, right?”

I choose heart.

-p

Perfect

They call Buenos Aires the ‘Paris of the South’. Just like Kerala is the ‘Venice of the East’. Why can’t Buenos Aires just be Buenos Aires? A few weeks ago I wrote about expectations. When something is called the Paris of the South – I expect Paris! Is it then uncool to admit that I didn’t think the city was all that? Probably. Reality did not live up to expectations; did I miss out? Definitely.

I’ve had several Tables for ONE during my visit to Argentina. I could have written from an asado, but steak didn’t inspire any words. I could have also written from the tango cafés of Caminito, but honestly, I did not want words to ruin that experience for me. But when I wander into the stunning Park Hyatt Palacio Duhau I feel the familiarity seep in. The terrace of Los Salones del Piano Nobile is crowded with strangers; the sun begs me to order a sparkling rosé; and I choose my first non-Argentine meal on my last day in the country.

Starbucks represents everything I hate (and grudgingly love) about globalisation. When I sit in a café in Palermo (the Soho of South America, I guess) I want a local brew with dulce de leche.  I do not want to order a vente Mocha with one shot, iced, caramel sauce on the top and bottom, no whip, light on the ice, and 7 pumps of peppermint syrup and have them know how to make it! That said, I also find great comfort in global brands when I find myself in dodgy neighbourhoods in foreign cities. If Starbucks is here then someone knows about this place. This is familiar. I am safe.

There are some things you can rely on no matter where you go.

• Women will stop at their reflection. Even in the middle of a jungle in torrential rain.
• A Latino will compliment a woman, no matter what size she comes in.
• Tourist attractions will serve bad junk food.
• A Park Hyatt knows how to poach an egg.

My appetiser of lettuce hearts and poached eggs with mustard vinaigrette (ARG $55) was inspirational. The butternut squash soup (ARG $46) that followed, even better. I sat on the terrace for many hours thinking about how perfect this day turned out. I was meant to join a tour but instead started with breakfast at a real, local café; spent the morning watching tango dancers weave their way around the streets of Caminito; and then wandered through plush Recoleta until I found myself on this terrace.

We wait so long for perfection. The perfect rainbow. The perfect man. The perfect city. How often have you missed out on something as you wait for perfection? Or someone?

-p

Great expectations

I’ve often admonished my mother for putting people in boxes: He’s gay, must be artistic. She likes eating out, must be a foodie. He’s gujju, must be vegetarian.

I’m too harsh. I choose to ignore that maybe she needs these boxes to manage her expectations. Far too often we are told not to expect anything of anyone; apparently, we cause our own heartache by expecting the next person to behave a certain way.

I expect to be included in my childhood friend’s wedding. She expects the vows she made that day to stay true forever. My sister expects me to have answers to all her questions. I expect my new crush to notice me.

So what happens when this doesn’t happen? When a marriage ends in divorce; when siblings don’t stand up for each other just because they are related; when a star chef’s new menu doesn’t dazzle you. What then?

Nopi (for North of Piccadilly) has received only good reviews. Even those who hated it, loved it. I was SO excited about Sunday lunch at Ottolenghi’s new restaurant in Soho. Having spent many happy meals at his kitchen in Islington, I was glad for something closer to home. Gold lamps reflect brightly off the whitewashed and tiled walls, the furniture is simple and waiters, smiley… Nopi’s dining room is like summer.

I started with a North African breakfast dish – Shakshuka – poached eggs with red pepper and tomato (£8.50). The eggs were okay – the tomato was too tart and eggs not eggy enough for me. I moved on to a Kingfish carpaccio with a spice rub (£10). This is an oily fish and really did not need the generous drizzle of olive oil. I couldn’t finish this overpriced dish except for the salad and samphire decorating the plate. I was beginning to lose hope… and ordered a cocktail to help lift the spirits on my table. The grapefruit and lychee cooler with vodka, and mint was clearly the wrong choice. I paid £10 for what mostly tasted of grapefruit juice and lime.

This is not what I expected. I had all but lost hope and then saw burrata on the menu.  Burrata would have to be on my Top 3 cheese list, and Nopi serves it with blood orange and coriander (£12). This Israeli-born chef has single-handedly changed the way I eat vegetarian food – and this dish reminded me exactly why. Finally, a dish that is pitch perfect! Just as I started to smile at my plate again a surly manager asked me to put my camera away. I ordered dessert (sultana financiers with brandy cream (£6.50), but it was too late. Nopi had let me down.

Or did I let myself down by expecting so much from one meal? Should I want less? Concede more? I don’t know the answer yet. What I do know is that my sister’s expectations of me have made me a better sibling. Her expectations of what she wanted for herself have made her a stronger woman. My expectations from a friendship has given my friend the confidence to make demands of me. For now, I want to wait for those moments when not only does someone meet my expectations; they surpass them. I have great expectations.

-p

Of angels

I first met Grishma as my friend Foram’s sister. She was leaving London just as I began my love affair with the city. Not before, and never since have I met anyone so intensely certain of where her destiny lay. I don’t know how easy or difficult it was for her, to shun the opportunities of London to move back to Bombay, but she did it with the glee of a child discovering a new toy. She said her angels had shown her the way. Yes, Grishma believes in angels. She sees them in lost pennies on forgotten sidewalks, and wisps of white feathers floating in the air. She even sees angels in the unexpected harsh words of close friends.

I believe in angels too. Only, I am less generous with the universe and need my angels to be tangible, loud and present. I need them to stamp their feet until I heed their call. Like when a near-stranger suggested I take a break from another Sunday at the office, to take time out for myself. He called back an hour later to make sure I wasn’t still at my desk. I needed an angel to remind me about The Important, not just The Urgent.

Opera Tavern is the perfect solution to a dreary, freezing January. It is brand new, but with the mood of a trusted old friend. It may be just me, but the sight of an open kitchen in a restaurant wins my instant affection. There is a beautiful “proper” restaurant one flight up but I chose to dine at the bar instead. Its a lovely room – dark wooden furniture, high ceiling, stools at the window to watch Covent Garden go by, and the inviting aroma of very good food.

The charming Emmanuelle wasted no time – smile, welcome, Prosecco, menu. With some help from him I got the ordering out of the way:

Crispy pigs ears (£3) – my favourite bar snack

Iberico pork skewers (£2.95) – yummy, but tiny

Mini Iberico pork and foie gras burger (£5.50) – gorgeous! The foie gently tickles exposes itself as you get on with the burger

Salsify salad with chestnuts & potatoes (£5.50) – an absolutely stunning dish

Seabass carpaccio (£7.50) – avoidable

Grilled salt cod (£7.50) – now you’re talking!

Opera Tavern has an extensive wine list and I settled for what they call a baby Amarone – a chocolatey Ripasso, La Salsette 2008 (£10.50).

As I nibble on the pigs ears in-between courses, I had to think more about my angels. Recently, they have been forcing me to change – or is it that they are trying to make me accept the change I am surrounded by? If this was five years ago or even two years ago I would have jumped ship. Research will show you that when most of us come face to face with our fears our instinct is to walk out the door we walked in through. Committing ourselves to the slightest change is more frightening than living with a bad situation. I have been so vehemently faithful to my view of the world that even a gentle suggestion of change put me in a state of panic.

I think its time I let my angels show me the emergency exit out of this fire. There is another way, and it doesn’t have to be scary.

-p

Oysters ahoy

I have just broken the first rule of an eat-right-and-look-hot food plan my friend Foram wrote for me. I started my day with a glass of champagne.

The Wright Brothers started with an oyster farm in Cornwall and now supply fish to restaurants across the UK. I first heard of them when I found myself slurping delicious oysters at their Oyster & Porter House in Borough market one sultry Saturday a few years ago.

Their new Wright Brothers Soho evokes the atmosphere of a Dickensian bar. Planned over three floors the restaurant has a cosy combination of banquettes and high tables. I asked to sit at the bar around their open kitchen in the lower-ground floor. This is a basement like none I’ve seen. Massive windows allow ample light to stream onto the two open kitchens, and also offer passers-by cheeky views into the restaurant. High tables are lit with candles on old fashioned candle sticks and the white walls are decorated with black and white photographs and blackboards with daily specials.

I love being the single diner at a bar counter. Its like being a fly on the kitchen wall – close enough to hear the chefs talk. And I do exactly that as I order my glass of Billecarte-Salmon (£9). The quiet Russian, loud Indian and flirty Frenchman spent a good part of lunch service deciphering accents for each other. They also did lovely things like walk ten feet across the kitchen to slice a lemon right in front of me.

I began with what I came for – a platter of Duchy natives, Colchester, Maldon and Spéciale de claire oysters (£15). This is very much a restaurant that lets you be. I wasn’t rushed through my oysters; the chefs didn’t mind my staring as they sent out one fish after another; and fashionable Soho diners smiled back from their tables laden with Cornish crab, crispy squid and Monocle bags.

The rest of my meal included a fantastic white bait with tartare sauce (£8.50) paired with a glass of Sancerre (£9.50), and a disappointing hazelnut chocolate pot (£5.50). I am glad I stopped by the washroom on my way out… love this brand of TP!

I first tasted oysters at a stunning restaurant on Hong Kong’s Peak. I was with someone very special and trusted him with my heart and palate. Things started to go wrong a little after that trip and never got right again. Now, many years later from that night, I can finally eat an oyster without being transported to that night. I still haven’t been able to go back to Hong Kong though.

Call someone you trust and try something new today. It is always, eventually, worth it.

-p

Back to the table

I cannot remember the exact moment I fell in love with food but I am certain it happened over a meal with my mother and her family. I do not know a more gregarious bunch of people so in love with “the meal”. Menu requests for the family’s Saturday Lunch would start coming in on a Tuesday. Screaming matches that started with martinis and escalated over prawn curry rice, almost always ended with the ras malai. And as they left, way past tea time, each one would say, “Too much eating. I’m going on a diet from Monday.”

A trip to any restaurant with Ma’s family is unequivocally embarrassing for everyone present – no subject is taboo and none of them came with a volume control. But these meals were also honest, heart-warming, and hilarious. Quite different from my father’s family that still believes the best place for any discussion is under a carpet. I think I know everything I do about speaking my mind from witnessing the unabashed display of emotions at meals with Ma’s family. Consequently, the only setting I associate with dealing with problems is a meal… and it was time for me to go back to the table.

All my working life I have shied away from working for/with either parent. I did not like what was left of their lives after they were done at the office. I also did not like how, slowly, the lines between home and office blurred then disappeared. Those who know me well know that work has never been my priority. I have worked very hard at jobs that I madly love just so that these jobs will allow me to lead the rest of my life exactly as I want it. At the annual reviews at work I always say that the only was I can assure my 200% commitment to the office is if the office can assure me a life outside of work.

Not surprisingly this has been often misinterpreted as a lack of ambition, a shirking of responsibilities, a fear of failing at the company’s Partnership Track. Kindly and diligently I have gone about my world, not allowing such negativity to interfere with it (too much). This week I celebrate my 4th anniversary with HVS. In this time I have been promoted from a position that didn’t quite exist to a position that desperately needed to exist; without trying to, I have proved my detractors wrong. And yet, instead of elation all I have is a sinking feeling in my heart that something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

I have suddenly found my work/life balance completely out of whack because against every dream my work has sneaked into top place while the rest of me seems to be gasping for air. I have to either change the way my work works, or change the way I feel about it. And the only place I could make this decision was back at a Table for ONE.

I had a James Bond moment as I walked into Umu “the only Kyoto style restaurant in the UK”. Discreet doesn’t begin to describe the entrance. When I finally found the front door it took me a few more minutes to realise I needed to wave my hand over a thingamebob that opened the door with the softest swoosh. I first visited Umu only a few days ago with my mum, Thomas, Chris and Akiko.

Umu’s specialty is a tasting menu but instead I chose a selection of Appetizers, Sashimi and some Modern Sushi: Foie gras custard, brown crab, ginger sauce (£13), Fried oysters, yuzu vinaigrette, chives, ginger (£6), Usuzukuri: thinly sliced fillet of white fish, chirizu & wasabi-soy sauce (£12), Diced scallop, tofu, ginger sauce, sesame seeds, mustard cress (£5.50) and Seared tuna, Maitake mushroom, kinome (£4.50). Each course revealed itself like a pearl glistening in its shell. I feel almost possessive about this meal that exposed such overwhelming flavours that I can neither compare nor describe.

I cannot remember the last time I lost myself in a meal as I did at Umu. As I washed down a delicious scoop of their matcha green tea ice cream with a glass of Riesling I felt the air fill my lungs again.

-p

Three tables for two

I have just finished reading Gouri Dange’s The Counsel of Strangers, a charming presentation of six stories that come pouring out at one big Indian wedding. Something one of the characters said in the book stayed with me all week. The near-suicidal Nurse Sajani at one point in her story said: “So then, tell me, as the fellow says in his book, When I die, who will cry? But I have a more urgent question. When I am living, who will laugh with me?”

The dreariness from the week before has continued to creep into the rest of the month. I’ve been on crap dates, fallen ill, still haven’t found joy in the promotion, and saddest of all, found out that the Coffee Shop Guy is married. I needed a miracle to lift my mood… but thank you Universe for sending me three!

Rahul was in town on business and pulled out a few hours to buy me a Skinny-Dry-Extra-Foam-No-Sugar-Chocolate-on-Top-Cappuccino at my local Pret A Manger. I have known Rahul for as long as he’s been married to my best friend Lina and over the years he and I have developed a tremendous affection and respect for one another. I have heard and experienced too many incidents of “socially acceptable” inflections that quickly escalate into uncomfortable conversations and consequently, the death of friendships. But in the 15 plus years that I have known Rahul, I am relieved that not once has our friendship turned even mildly flirtatious, and not once has my friendship with Lina ever soured. Lina and Rahul, collectively and separately are havens of joy and love and I am grateful for them in my life. That day I laughed a lot with my favourite married man.

It is week one of the grouse season and there was no question that I had to book a restaurant that served grouse. Scott’s in Mayfair, before the refurb was the epitome of traditional elegance. The renovations brought a few naff additions like the art on the walls, a mile high island bar to display their oysters, and way too many diners in grey tee shirts. Fortunately the food is still top-notch and my handsome companion wasted no time devouring the menu. Madison and I settled for 18 oysters – yes, 18, the Roast Grouse for him and a Bannockburn Rib Steak for me. We paired our oysters with a rosé from Sancerre and the mains with reds from France and Argentina. Madison orders with his eyes and so of course we had dessert (that we couldn’t finish) – honeycomb ice cream with chocolate sauce and a scoop of the mint chocolate chip. Date two is with handsome Madison. I have only known him a few years but continue to be joyously surprised by how effortless our times together are. We glide from gossip about ex lovers to Ugly Betty, from developments in the Indian hotel industry to non-political books by daughters of politicians; I cannot remember the last time I had so much to say to a straight man. That day I laughed a lot with one half of my favourite gay couple.

I first met Aditya in 2004. I remember like it was yesterday, an autumn evening when I had a sudden attack of the butterflies. We flirted for years. I dithered, then he did, and at one point we just stopped; flirting and dithering. Today even though there is no hope for a romance, nor a desire for it, Aditya is still my favourite single man because he still gives me butterflies. That night we went to a restaurant he had never been to before. Goodman is a New York steakhouse in the heart of Mayfair and I am delighted to report that no steak lover will ever be disappointed here. Aditya visits London every few months and always, always makes time to meet me. He lets me know that I matter. That night I laughed a lot with my favourite single man.

My three miracles arrived like strapping life guards on a stormy beach. I’ve been reminded of the love that surrounds me… even if not from exactly next door, and all is right in the world again.

-p